


The Love We Stole

by callixton



Series: No Encore Tonight [1]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: (though likely more descriptive than anything in canon), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Driven Plot, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, i'm not tagging it but you know how the first part of their story ends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callixton/pseuds/callixton
Summary: The year is 1951 and Curt Mega is young, reckless, and the CIA's most promising upcoming agent. His first encounter with Owen Carvour nearly loses them both their jobs and their lives, and while Curt may be happy to never interact with the man again, the rest of the world seems to have different plans. Partnered together by their agencies, the time they share begins to slowly transform resentment into trust.





	The Love We Stole

**Author's Note:**

> [the love we stole](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A2yfdVF4fw)

Agent Curt Mega was good at his job. Upper management may bitch that his methods weren’t always as clean as they would like, but let them. There was no denying his skill. He could get in and out efficiently, and his success rate was steadily growing to top the previous record holder.

All of that in mind, his current mission should have been easy. Famous last words.

He’d made it in without complication. Everyone had bought “Daniel Wilson, the new American political aide” without issue or suspicion. At least, none that he could detect, and that was his damn job. Slipping away from the ambassador’s party to the offices upstairs had been almost too easy, all things considered. He’d made it through the locked door to the wing and to the foreign official’s office before there was any cause for concern.

It was a surprisingly large space for a single ambassador — wood panelled with expensive looking portraits hung on the walls — but nothing Curt hadn’t seen before. His current focus was solely on the large desk at the head of the room. There was a light fixture hanging from the ceiling, but as he was trying to attract as little attention as possible, the lamp on the desk would have to do. Its light was barely enough to read by, but _barely_ was still enough.

“Shit, come on,” he muttered under his breath, putting back the folder he had been rifling through.

He couldn’t be sure if it was because he was too preoccupied by the files he was sorting through, or if the man was being expertly quiet, but he never heard the footsteps in the hallway that came before the doorknob turned and the door slid open.

He started at the sound, and only barely resisted the temptation to reach for his gun as his mind scrambled to recall his alibi for being in the room. The man who walked through the doorway was tall, with neatly combed dark brown hair and an impeccably tailored suit. If he was at all surprised to see Curt in the room, he didn’t show it.

“Hello, can I help you?” Curt said, trying to maintain the illusion that he was the one who was supposed to be here.

The man tilted his head slightly, a hint of a smile flitting across his lips. “I’m not sure, maybe you can tell me,” he said. He nodded toward Curt. “What’s that file in your hand?”

Curt’s stomach dropped. He’d been warned there may be foreign intelligence agents present, but after running into so little interference on his way up, he’d dismissed it. _Practically did all the work for him, Mega._

The man’s words had created a palpable tension in the air. Curt kept the professional mask on, though, raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to say it’s no good to either of us,” he said. There was no need to bother addressing who they were or what they were doing here anymore; it was more than clear to both of them. The polite facade felt moments away from shattering.

Curt leaned forward so his hands were covered by the desk and he could send a quick update to Barb on the situation via his watch. ‘ADDITIONAL AGENT PRESENT, UNDER CONTROL,’ he said, inputting the message without looking down, then quickly ran his finger along the side to ensure it was set to silent.

The man smirked, not bothering to disguise that he didn’t believe him. “You won’t mind if I take a look, then.” It wasn’t a question. His accent was British, which, while not a guarantee, probably landed him in MI6.

Curt took the file back out and slid it across the desk in his direction. There was nothing of value in it and nothing to hide. Besides, as unlikely as it was, he was hoping he could find the actual document and get the hell out of there in the time it took the other agent to skim the contents. He’d pulled off far more unlikely last minute escapes in the past.

MI6 let out an irritated grunt and tossed the file back on the desk, some of the papers coming loose and sliding across the wood. Curt glanced up for only a moment before returning to his search. He let out a short laugh. “I wouldn’t have given it to you that easily if it had anything worth knowing,” he said. His investigation had still revealed nothing, and he had a feeling his window for escape was rapidly narrowing. He shut the drawer with a little more force than strictly necessary.

He straightened, about to continue to comb through the rest of the room while he had the chance, when he realized the other man hadn’t moved. MI6 was watching Curt with narrowed eyes. “You’re right,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

Curt hesitated. “I am?”

“You never would let me see the files if you had them on your person,” he said. Before Curt had time to even process what he’d said, the man had vaulted over the desk and knocked him into the wall. Papers went flying and the ambassador’s nameplate clattered to the floor.

The man gave him a sharp punch to the gut while he was still attempting to regain his bearings, and the rest of the air was knocked out of him. He choked as the man pinned him against the wall, his arm braced across Curt’s throat. Curt twisted, trying to land a blow and fight off his grip, but the other agent knew exactly how to hold him in place without being in danger. He unbuttoned Curt’s jacket and slid underneath with his free hand, feeling around for the pockets.

“What… the hell… are you doing?” Curt spat, his vision beginning to swim and flicker with black from lack of air.

“You would never reveal if you had the documents on you. In fact, the smart thing to do when another agent walks into the room would be to pretend you hadn’t found anything yet,” he said calmly. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have them already.”

As he shifted to start searching through his pants pockets, Curt finally gained the leverage he needed to force his way out of his grip. As soon as he was free, he punched him in the face.

The other agent stumbled back against the desk, holding his jaw. Curt was optimistically hoping the fight was over; his throat was hoarse and his head was pounding. MI6 seemed just as exhausted as him, and his lip was bleeding from where Curt had punched him. Curt took a breath, but before he had a chance to straighten himself out and figure out their next step, MI6 stood, a nasty glint in his eye.

Curt saw the attack coming this time and was prepared to take him, but instead of pushing him back against the wall like he was braced for, MI6 went straight for his hand. He cracked Curt’s wrist against the wall twice, smashing his watch, then let him go and took a few steps backwards to lean against the desk again.

Curt swore, cradling his wrist. It wasn’t broken — he was pretty sure, at least — but the bone felt bruised and the metal of the broken watch had cut into him. “Are you fucking done?” he said.

MI6 made a noncommittal gesture between a nod and a shrug. “That was a nice piece of tech you had there, but I couldn’t afford you calling for back up.” He tilted his head. “You really don’t have it on you, do you?”

“No,” Curt seethed, brushing past him to collapse in the leather armchair opposite the desk. “And I’d have been happy to turn out my pockets if it would’ve avoided this, asshole.”

MI6 raised an eyebrow, then brushed the remaining papers on the desk aside. He pulled himself on top of the desk and turned to face Curt in a single smooth motion. “You know, assuming we’re looking for the same document — which I have little doubt of, considering its significance — I’m not convinced that we’re even in the right place. I wasn’t originally going to come into this room, but I saw the light on through the window.” He smiled and added, more to himself than Curt, “Moth to a lamp.”

He continued, “We’re in enough of a bind considering we’re after the same information, but I’m sure we can find some way to work it out without MI6 and the CIA ending up in a relations war. Besides, none of that is important if we can’t find it at all.” He paused and looked at Curt as if expecting an answer.

“Where were you headed originally?” Curt said, mostly because he suspected it was what he wanted him to ask. The man’s speech had seemed to drone on forever, and Curt was close to knocking him out and continuing his search on his own, whether he’d fail or no. He ran his fingers up the arm of the chair. He wished he had a drink.

“The Lithuanian ambassador,” he said, far too smug for his own good. “The exchange is, of course, between them and the Austrians, but all of our information pointed to the documents being there.”

“Fine,” Curt said. “How about you go use your own intel to search the Lithuanian’s room, and I’ll stay here so I can finish my damn job.”

MI6 tsked. Curt again had to resist the urge to get out of his chair and punch him in the face a second time. “Your words, not mine. Surely you can understand why I can’t leave without you.”

“Surely you can understand,” Curt parroted back in an affected English accent. “Fuck off,” he said, standing. “I’m going to finish my job and get out of here.”

He walked behind him to go through the remaining desk drawer, then immediately hissed in pain as he tried to open it with his crushed wrist. The cut from the watch wasn’t deep, but blood was starting to stain the white cuff of his shirt. At least it wasn’t his dominant hand, but that kind of injury, however insignificant the pain may be, could be dangerous. He was able to push through it, but he wasn’t looking forward to having to fight one handed if it came to it.

MI6 didn’t move off the desk, but he did shift so he could watch Curt’s face, no doubt analyzing him for any sign he’d found what they were looking for. In the end, it proved pointless. Curt had nothing to hide; there was nothing in the drawer except for a couple of unapproved contracts, a collection of meeting records, and three high-grade pens which had fallen to the bottom. He snagged one halfway through and tucked it into his breast pocket. They weren’t going to miss it.

He groaned, slamming his fist into the top of the desk. It was his bad one, but he was frustrated enough that he’d done it on purpose, just so he’d have an excuse to bite back the pain. He saw MI6 frown out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up. “What?” he snapped.

“I’m sorry about your wrist,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you then, I was only destroying the watch. You should be careful with it.” Curt grumbled, not dignifying the apology with a response. MI6 sighed and slid down from the desk. “No luck, then?”

“Clearly.”

“Are you ready to come with me yet?” He had walked over to the exit and was waiting expectantly there.

He hesitated. It wasn’t the safest thing to follow a special agent into a room where he held all of the cards. Still, if MI6’s plan was to leave him behind or knock him out before he could physically access to the files, he could have done that just as easily here. And, to Curt’s frustration, he had held him in a vulnerable position twice now. “Fine,” he said, switching off the lamp. The room was immediately plunged in darkness.

“Is there a name you go by?” MI6 asked, opening the door and holding it for both of them. A faint glow greeted them from the stairwell beyond the embassy hallway.

Curt barely paused. “Daniel Wilson,” he said. The alias didn’t go past tonight, it would be difficult to find anything else out about him if it was all the other man had to go on. “You?”

He smirked and placed a finger over his lips. “Can’t say, I’m afraid,” he said, winking at Curt before exiting into the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm very excited to post the start to this story, I've been plotting and working on scenes for ages. If all goes well, it will cover all of their history preceding the canon. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Starkid/TCB tumblr is @feelin-a-lot-of-deja-vu-again if you want to talk or see more content!


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